


as time goes by

by albion



Series: mcgenji week 2016 [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Pining, a little bit of angst but it gets better, touch starvation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 12:05:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8371687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/albion/pseuds/albion
Summary: Genji is human, underneath his armour, and underneath his skin aches and howls.Day One: Touch.





	

In the dark, he allows himself to meditate. Sleeping is still a necessity, as is for all humans, but the frequency was not as crucial as it once had been.

He can go longer periods without needing to blink, without needing to lay his head down on a pillow and rest his weary mind.

Most days, he does not know if his inhuman traits are a blessing or a curse.

Genji sits up on top the rock and stares out over the moonlit Watchpoint. It is dark, quiet and still. Below, there are a few lights still on in the base, where his friends continue to mill about before bed. One from the workshops, where he surmises Winston and Torbjörn are still arguing amicably over trivial details.

He allows himself a small smile in the gloom. Nobody will see him up here. Nobody will disturb his thoughts.

That is his blessing and his curse.

He has made peace with the machinery of his body, but has anyone else? He is no longer sure. 

Sometimes, he supposes, it is hard for humans to remember that a chassis can still be programmed to feel.

Angela was very good in her work. He can hear the rush of air as he dashes forward, smell the metallic tang of blood as he strikes and cuts.

He can _ache_ with the loss of touch, the absence of warm hand on his shoulder, a weight at his back, the touch of a lover.

Genji has not taken a lover for many years. He is not sure how he would be able to, anymore.

His mentor was able to teach him many things, but Zenyatta himself did not have a sex drive. Touch did not bother him. He is content to sustain himself on words and the warmth of the Iris alone.

Genji is human, underneath his armour, and underneath his skin aches and howls.

A noise cuts through the stillness—suddenly there comes the sounds of heavy footsteps behind him. He tenses; seizing up, ready to strike. Then he relaxes again, because he knows that an intruder would not be so careless.

But he did not want to be found here, and he winces underneath the mask.

“Hey, Genji,” comes the pleasant warm tones of Jesse McCree. “What are you doin’ out here sitting in the dark all by your lonesome?”

“Greetings Jesse,” Genji says neutrally. “I am meditating, if you don’t mind.” He hopes that will be enough.

McCree, naturally, misses the point. He flops down heavily beside Genji, legs sprawled obscenely out where Genji’s are crossed, holding a datapad that illuminates them both in the night.

“The mask lets you see better than the rest of us in the dark, right? Works for you, but I’m a regular fella, and I need some light to see by,” Jesse jokes lightly, setting the datapad down on his other side. He swings his legs over the edge of the cliff, surveys the watchpoint.

“I did not think you enjoyed meditating,” Genji says, somewhat stiffly. It is not that he does not enjoy McCree’s presence, is it not that at all, but he wishes of all people to disturb him now, it did not have to be _him_.

Jesse sits in the darkness. Unlike Genji, he does not ever know how to be silent. His boots are loud, his spurs are loud. He begins humming a little ditty. Something warm sounding, something like home, perhaps.

Genji closes his eyes. Jesse continues humming.

“And this is fun?” McCree asks suddenly.

“Fun?”

“Sittin’ in the dark. Come _on_ , Genji, give me something here. Nobody could find you, so I went and asked Zenyatta, and he told me where you would be. You’re not just meditating, what’s wrong?”

He cannot tell him. McCree, with his long string of lady friends and gentleman callers, would not understand. Once upon a time, they had been similar. So similar.

But Jesse McCree is not a man who accepts silence as an answer, so Genji must give him _something_.

“Sometimes it is… lonely,” he begins. “Being me.”

Jesse doesn’t say anything for a long moment. And then: “Yeah, I could imagine. Well, actually no I can’t, but I understand loneliness, I guess.”

“Loneliness?”

“Yeah. ‘Fore the recall, I wasn’t in the habit of seeing many people. The gunslinger’s deal, he don’t get to really make a lot of connections, yeah?”

“I suppose this is true.”

Jesse laughs, nudges Genji’s shoulder lightly with his own. “What, you sayin’ we aren’t good company here? You don’t need to be lonely, Genji. We’ve got all the old gang… uh, most of the old gang, and so many new faces. And your mentor even came! You’ve got so many people here who care about you.”

Genji lets out a small _hm_.

Jesse turns to look at him. “Unless… that’s not the sort of loneliness you meant, is it.”

Genji freezes. McCree _cannot_ have realized, unless—of course. He was Blackwatch, once. He is sharper than people give him credit for.

The two men sit on the rocks above the watchpoint and regard each other carefully.

“It is difficult for me to find… company,” Genji says quietly. If McCree already knows, then there is no point in trying to lie.

“Yeah, I feel you there,” Jesse replies softly. “I ain’t in my prime of life either, and there aren’t many people willing to follow me around from safehouse to safehouse, from alias to alias. That ain’t no kind of life for a civilian.”

“Unless it were another agent,” Genji finds himself saying, mouth moving before his brain can catch up.

Jesse stops. “Yeah, there’s that,” he acquiesces.

Genji draws in a deep breath, lets it out again. After a few minutes, finally, McCree rises to his feet. Turns to leave. Genji lets him go with only a slight stab of regret.

Then the heavy footsteps behind him stop. 

“Aren’t you coming?” Jesse asks.

“I would prefer to remain here for a while longer,” Genji replies. “But thank you.”

“That wasn’t what I was askin’, Genji.”

Genji twists his upper body around to face him. McCree stands there, all muscular thigh and broad muscles and rugged charm. He lifts his hat from his head and tips it slightly at Genji, a gentleman’s gesture. Not in mockery, but of earnest sincerity. Jesse is always so sincere.

“When you want a fellow agent, _agent_ , you gotta ask ‘em directly. Not everyone is as good as reading people as me.”

There’s a dryness in Genji’s throat. Sandpaper and charcoal. He cannot answer.

“Well?” McCree asks. “Do you want me or not, Genji Shimada?”

Those words are like the key in a lock. Genji rises to his feet, faces McCree.

“Yes,” he says simply.

“Well then,” Jesse asks. “What are we waitin’ for?”


End file.
